This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Sunday, November 16, 2014

Back at the bar (Blogophilia 39.7)

Without a word, the bartender put the drink next to his
hand. The 3 sheets was quiet this time of night. It was getting close to last
call and all rowdy yuppies had either paired off or passed out on the bar. Not drunk enough to shake off the rage, he was
finding it hard to focus. He chugged the scotch without thinking.A sharp pain followed. With a curse, he
pulled the stirrer away from his eye dabbed his face with the bar napkin.The offending alcoholic droplets remaining were
spared from going into his eyes.

Two blond heads were nodding and arguing over the latest sex
offender stats on the screen over the bar. They tried to one up themselves on
what the best method to deal with this “crisis”. One championed longer prison
terms. The other was touting a medical treatment that would cause the prisoner
to collapse like a myotonic goat was upon arousal. Kind of a reverse Viagra,
with everything deflating as one part inflates.

A smirk crossed Jeremy’s face as he heard the story. He
really didn’t care. Mother had already taken care of that part of him. She couldn’t
take him as he was, a man who wanted acceptance and love. He had taken care of
her in return. Eye for an eye, or life
for my balls, take your choice. Really smiling at that thought, the rage over
the visit to the psychic slowly ebbed.

He still needed to take care of the Pigs. He thought back to
a preacher he saw on television once. He was telling some story about talents,
whatever they were. He guessed they had something to do with money, but he
really wasn’t sure. But the gist was of three slaves, two accomplished something
and the other one didn’t. The Master didn’t take kindly to the one’s ultimate
lazy moment and had him cast out. Jeremy wasn’t going to be that guy.

As brooded, the next story came in over the screen. It was
the apartment complex he was at earlier. The sound was too low to really
understand what the automaton was saying, but it appeared the murder he
stumbled on may have had some company.